The Eyes Of The Green Mile
by Zeppelinlocked
Summary: A lost chapter of Paul Edgecombe's memory is finally written down.
1. Reminisce

**The Eyes of The Green Mile**

_"I helped it, didn't I?"_

_**This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the original author's (Stephen King) imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. **_

Note: -Nika _Anatolyevna Volya rightfully belongs to me. Anything she says or does is completely fictional. - I honestly think this was a pretty bad story, but somewhere, there's someone who'd maybe appreciate this story a little, and that's one thing that kept me going. The book was not written in chronological order, I tried to put the events in order, but I have no idea how well I did. I suppose this story was an experiment of something…but what._

_-Rhett__**  
><strong>_

After Elaine passed, I had to go on writing, writing about the eyes that saw us through back in '32, they were astounding, I would have fallen for them myself, but they reminded me too much of the Mile. (Besides, I adore blue eyes.) These eyes—emerald eyes—belong to a full-blooded Russian woman named Nika Anatolyevna Volya. I didn't cite her before because this woman—I think—is my secret, the world's secret, and she is the wife of the ill-famed Percy Wetmore.

I woke up in heavy ache, a weight on my chest, yet, it was nothing, and I felt tranquility. I always felt tranquil when I thought of her, she's so benevolent, long-suffering, and she's still alive. She was a nurse in WWII even though she had been trained as a solider and not a wounded man's pincushion. Nika was touched by God's gift, John Coffey. The contact was short and long enough to have been a life-long effect.  
>Brad Dolan no longer worked here—supposedly before Elaine died in her bed, she contacted her connections about Brad Dolan—I was absolutely relieved, and I may possibly go for my walks again, but not today, I wanted, needed, to start writing.<p>

My bed was hot and snug, I'm surprised I didn't get night sweats, descending my feet into the supple, soft grey slippers my granddaughter Danielle bought me, and slowly strolled out of my summer warm room, seemingly kissed by sunlight peeking through the curtains—this reminded me of the morning that I made sweet love with my Janice, right before leaving to Cold Mountain, I was a little tardy, but it was worth it. (A day after my urine infection was cured by John, not before, sorry if that thought popped into your head.)  
>I arrived in the kitchen, smelling a dense aroma of eggs, sausage, freshly squeezed oranges, and of light rain—for once, they served us cooked; prepared food and not what came in cans.<br>"Good morning Paul." One of the female cooks said, patiently stirring pancake mix.  
>"Good morning." I replied. "I don't know how you know my name, but may I ask yours?" I squinted a bit—though my ragged, soggy eyes did that for me already.<p>

She smiled and said, "Laura Wetmore, a grandchild of Nika Wetmore, she's told me everything about you, Brutus, Dean, Harry and my Grandpa Percy." She laughed lightly. "I'm glad to actually meet you, though, I'm a bit surprised that you didn't notice me, I look similar to my Grandpa." She put the bowl of pancake mix on the counter, smiled, and gazed at me with the kindness Nika has in her eyes. She really did look like Percy, a strong firm jaw, one blue eye, one green, and even brown hair like Percy's to top it off, but her hair wasn't as short as his, it was shoulder length—wet dreams included?  
>"No kidding, did you always work here?" I asked.<p>

"I began working here as soon as a position was open, odd position though." She said placing an elbow near the bowl on the counter, leaning with one leg behind the other. She must have taken Brad Dolan's job, but his job wasn't cooking, it _really_ was odd.  
>"Hmm, well it was nice to meet-"I began, turning away.<br>"Wait. Aren't you going to tell me about my Grandpa and Grandma?"  
>"Bring this old man one sausage, two eggs and a pancake with butter and syrup on the side, and you've got a deal." I said, smirking.<br>She grinned, "Alright, I'll bring it up to your room in ten minutes, what number?"  
>"Room 5." I said, walking away, my slippers shuffling against the ebony tiles, it reverberated like the ocean, with a nice <em>whish whish<em>. I entered the bathroom where which Elaine smoked and set off the fire alarm, I could still smell faint smoke, but it was probably my imagination. Soon after, I emptied my small bladder, and washed up. I gaited passed the T.V room, the young'uns watching Opera Winfrey; God, how I hated T.V shows these days. I looked down as I went up the stairs—clutching onto wooden handrail to the left—watching my steps so I didn't stub my toe, or even worse, lose balance and fall, I wouldn't have survived at all. I know what you're thinking, 'why would they have Room 5 _up_stairs? Honestly, I don't have an answer to that.  
>I opened the door to my room, leaning onto the doorknob and surprisingly saw the tray sitting on the table nearest to the window. I entered a bit more.<br>"I know people, big people!"  
>I nearly fell over at the sound of Percy's voice—good thing I had a hold on the door knob—it was loud enough to seem he was yelling into a megaphone, my ears rung and I looked around, shocked, with my heart throbbing as if my old urinary infection was deep, dead center in my chest. No one was in my room; no one was out in the hall. The room suddenly lost its warmth and desire; there was some kind of fog that temporarily absorbed any light in the room. My eyes felt heavy, a dark figure of an arm appeared on my shoulder, I tried to move but it was not possible. The feeling of my lungs sunk into the pits of my intestines. The fog dissipated, but the light didn't return. I sat at the table, panting a bit to slow down my heart, looking at the tray; I've lost my appetite, trying to comprehend what happened just moments ago.<p>

Laura trotted into my room, looking at me in a peculiar way. The room lighted up again.  
>"You look like as if you saw a ghost." Her brow rose. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.<em><br>_"Not _exactly_…" I said.  
>"Well, are you going to tell me about what happened in '32? You must be old, ancient." She said with an ignorant tone in her voice. She had the brains of Percy, alright.<br>"Well, yes, I'm one-hundred four. I'm not going to talk about what happened in '32, I'd rather you read it. I've got to start writing, if you don't mind." I walked to my nightstand, gathering the papers—the same papers that Elaine read when she was here, full of life and determined to keep on living, oh, how much I missed her. I waved them in front of me and sat on my bed; I didn't walk over to the door, heck, might have popped a hip.  
>Laura had a disappointed look on her face as she came to the bed, taking the papers out of my hand. She really wanted me to tell her everything that happened in '32? I'd rather write it all out with my father's fountain pen, and the wrist pain along with it.<p>

She nodded with a slight smirk on her face, and went on her way elsewhere from my room, and returning to her duties, leaving a smear from her black work shoe on the room's carpet. Black work shoes…

_Comments and Trolling accepted._


	2. Twinkies

Our usual furry friend, Steamboat Willy, came scurrying up to the duty desk, Brutal peered over the desk, grinning.  
>"Well, If it ain't Steamboat Willy, how you doin' bud?"<br>Willy's ears perked up, his oil drop eyes glistening, and his pink tail waved, as if he said, hey, I'm doing great, how 'bout you? Brutal's grin turned into a bright beam, he snapped a finger at Dean, sitting next to him.  
>"Got some of that sandwich left, Deanie?" Dean jumped a little.<br>"Yeah."  
>Dean reached slowly for his lunch, solidly sitting on the duty desk, took out a half eaten sandwich, and handed it to Brutal. Brutal nicked a piece of the corn beef sandwich, leaned forward, and tossed it over the desk. The morsel landed neatly in front of Willy, sniffed at it, and ate with such eloquence. I chuckled and admired Steamboat Willy.<br>There was a sudden rattling of keys outside of the exercise yard door, beneath all the key noise, I heard a crumpling of a paper bag, and I turned my head towards the door, expecting to see Percy. Once the door opened, a flood of hot light approached the duty desk, at this time Brutal and Dean turned heads to the door. Nika trotted in—with a paper bag, as I suspected —dressed in a long ruffled jade skirt, a large ashen ribbon around her torso, supporting her breasts quite neatly. I suppose Percy only loved Nika for her body, but, who am I to say? Nika skipped steadily as she approached the duty desk—Willy jumped in time to avoid being stepped on, climbed her skirt, and sat unharmed on her shoulder, the brown bag piqued his interest, and his fine whiskers twitched. She slid on her white flats, and halted in front of the desk, her white hair swished by, and settled behind her. There was a sugary, warm smell escaping the thin brown paper bag, I knew it was a pastry, one I've eaten before, I couldn't remember the name. This pastry began being sold by 1930, but Nika only introduced me to it about twice, this was the third. She opened the bag, and sniffed its contents. By this time, the aroma was unbearable, I, Brutal and Dean were almost about to snatch the bag from her hands and gorge ourselves, but that was only a thought.

"Oh Miss Volya, how sweet of you to get me a little treat." Said Brutal, leaning closer and stretching out an arm to get a hold of the bag. Nika retracted her arm just in time to keep the bag away from Brutal.  
>"Well, since you were the first to say anything, I guess you do get the first bite of this 'little treat'."<br>"Nika," I said. "What is the name of those pastries you have there?" I was sitting on the duty desk, since the only two chairs behind the duty desk were occupied.  
>"Twinkies. Fresh ones. Not like the kind you buy. I got a comrade who works at the factory where they make 'em, and I guess I stopped by at the right time to get these." She spoke with no hint of a Ruskie accent at all; I suppose I'll tell you a little about her. Nika was sent to the U.S in 1929 because her father died and she had no other family. She wandered from state to state on the east coast, until she came to Louisiana and stayed here ever since. How I met her was a bit humorous. I was driving to Cold Mountain, I saw a hitchhiker who had well tailored suit, a white umbrella, but was too curvy to be a man. So, I picked up the hitchhiker—no woman should be left on the side of the road, I'll tell you that, especially a foreigner. When she entered my truck, the first thing she said was, 'Privet, I am Nika Anatolyevna Volya, I seek a home to live for three days, if there are children, I shall teach them my native language, Russian.' I agreed. (My children learned Russian fluently and my grandchildren know basic sentences, later on my eldest son and his family moved to Russia, and I receive vodka frequently and letters, too.) I drove her to Cold Mountain—telling her 'why did the chicken cross the road' joke; she loved it, soon I found out she loved puns—and introduced her to Brutus and Dean. The three of us taught her Basic English for the first year, later on we taught her more complex English. She was pretty bright for a 15 year old at the time; we even celebrated her birthdays on the Green Mile. The inmates enjoyed her company, played cards with them, worked out in the exercise yard and calmed them down when they had a date with Sparky. She had pale skin, she almost seemed albino, but albinos' didn't have green eyes. She was slender, but tough and could really kick anyone's ass, of course; she was part of the Soviet Army and soon to be part of the U.S army also. The most unique quality about Nika is how honest she is, she'd always be by my side and anyone else's. She never—and probably didn't have a thought of—abandoning a friend. (Comrade, as she would say.) Nika was now 17, and sharp as a barbers' cut.<br>"Lucky us." Dean blurted out.

"I mean—lucky you." Dean awkwardly sat in his chair; Brutal and I chuckled.  
>"Yeah, sure…" Nika stuck her tongue out at Dean. Brutal sighed, and leaned back into his chair, waiting for his Twinkie. Nika walked around the duty desk, Twinkie in hand, and Willy, (I'll address him as Mr. Jingles from now on.) sniffed at her neck, and curiosity looked at the bag and back to her hand. Nika stood behind Brutal's chair, walked forward until his head was between the valley of her breasts. Brutal was blushing, but Nika couldn't see his red face, only Dean and I could, I stifled a cackle, almost to the point I was red in the face myself. Her left hand lay on his left shoulder, her right had gone around his head, and the Twinkie was brushed put against his lips until he opened his mouth and took a bite. Brutal took the rest of the uneaten Twinkie into his own hand and mumbled.<br>"T-thank you, Miss." Nika snorted at this and said,  
>"You're very welcome." She backed away, and Brutal's head was no longer comfortable against her bosom. She walked up to me and hugged me warmly, I returned the hug, and her hugs always lasted about twenty seconds.<br>"How you doin' Paulie?"  
>"I'm well Nika, how 'bout you?"<br>"Fine and dandy." We let go of each other and Mr. Jingles scurried down Nika's torso into the ashen ribbon. She jerked and giggled a bit, but she knew now why Mr. Jingles hid. Percy Wetmore walked in from the exercise yard.  
>"Some lugoon left the door open." Percy then shut and locked the door. Brutal finished eating his Twinkie and was now peering at Percy, Dean was doing the same.<br>"I've forgotten," Nika stood in front of the duty desk once again, pulled out a Twinkie from the bag, and held it out towards Percy.  
>"I'm sorry?" She said. Percy grinned; that ill grin that didn't sit well with me, probably never has. He strolled in the direction of her, seized the Twinkie, took a bite and breathed a deep breath of satisfaction.<br>"Mm mm mm. Mighty fine Twinkie you got here, I apologize for calling you a lugoon, and I thought it was Dean who left the door open, Darlin'." Percy loved Nika, he was fanatical over her, but at the same time, Brutal fancied Nika, there was a bit of tension between the two. Brutal was well over her age, he was thirty-nine, Percy Wetmore: twenty-one. Percy had a better chance with age, but not personality. Arrogant, young, ill-tempered, I, not even Percy himself, knew what he was going to do next; and that was not delightful for E block, or any of us. Percy laid a hand on Nika's pale cheek, and kissed the other. Her face twisted in disgust.  
>"Yee-awe!" Toot Toot made his appearance known, but I ignored him and I guess the others did too. Brutal stood up and whispered to me that he was going to see Admin, and left silently.<p>

"Get a room you two; I don't want any stains on the mile." Dean bellowed.  
>"Maybe we will." Percy replied.<br>"Gross!" She shoved Percy away, snatched a Twinkie from the bag, and marched down the Green Mile, happily chomping on the pastry. Mr. Jingles revealed himself from Nika's torso ribbon, little paws clenched over top, and poking his little head out, like a joey in its mothers' pouch. She fed him a spot of Twinkie. Percy watched her sway down the mile, the skirt nicely defining her behind. He snapped out of it, looked at me embarrassingly. He unsheathed his baton, spun it, and grinned. Nika gently took Mr. Jingles from her ribbon, bent over in front of the padded room, and set him free. Mr. Jingles scurried under the grey door and disappeared.

_Comments and Trolling accepted._


	3. Cat and Mouse

That night, Percy and Harry were on shift. Percy was pursuing Mr. Jingles for several hours, sweating a great deal, and shrieking cuss words as he did. Harry written on a report sheet that night, having Percy running around and cussing was both amusing and frightening. Nika would have outraged if she have gotten her hands on that report; might have beaten Percy senseless—though he had no sense before she'd beat him.  
>"Got enough vermin running around here! Damn!"<br>Percy beat his fists against the padded room, scoring his knuckles and causing them to bleed unsatisfactorily.  
>"The only vermin running 'round here, Percy, is you." Harry mumbled.<p>

_Comments and Trolling accepted._


	4. Of The Cross

"_Hey! Quit it! For Chrissake! Quit it, Percy!"  
>I had been half-dozing on what was to become Delacroix's bunk, but I was up in a hurry, my heart slugging away hard in my chest. Noise of that kind on the E Block almost never happened until Percy came; he brought it along with him like a bad smell.<em>

Percy was dragging Del along and beating him with his damned hickory stick, Brutal yelling, Del screaming in agony, and I, annoyed and angry as hell. After separating Percy's baton and Del's face and arms, I confronted Percy.

_"What in the Christ was that all about?" I asked. "I have never__—I have neve_r!_—had a prisoner beaten onto my block before!"_

_"Little fag bastard tried to cop my joint when I pulled him out of the van," Percy said. "He had it coming, and I'd do it again."_

I didn't notice Nika was behind Percy until I heard a _whap; _she had taken Percy's baton and beaten the back of his head one hard time. Percy howled in pain, bowed over, cringing his hands around the back of his little head.

"I'll get you for that, fuckin fag!"  
>"I bet you will," Nika replied. Percy nearly hit Nika, but then realized that he almost hit his 'lover', and only came face to face with her, shocked and furious. She simply smiled and said,<br>"Get out of here, Paul will talk to you later," She winked at me. "Tell Admin you're supposed to read letters and help in the package room." Percy nodded, patted his tumbled hair back, and walked up the corridor, turning right at the T section. Nika knew what had to be done; she always had an ear perked out for chores on Cold Mountain, which saved me a breath or so. As soon as Percy was out of sight, Brutal snuck behind Nika, embraced her, lifting her feet off the green linoleum. I wasn't surprised Brutal did this.

"My _hero_," Brutal said, squeezing Nika tightly, she expelled a breath sharply and Brutal let her go as soon as she did. Nika had the wind knocked out of her, his large hands must have had compressed her diaphragm a bit too much. She sat on the floor, catching her breath, and her hand lain across her lower torso.  
>"I'm sorry—Ha ha—Nika," said Brutal, laughing. Nika waved him off, saying, its okay. She got back up on her two feet.<br>"Permission to take off Delacroix's chains?" said she, saluting. I nodded, and looked at Del, cringing on his bunk.

"He'll need the nurturing of a woman, especially after that, I suppose?" Nika sensed my sarcasm, and angrily teased the key to Del's cell—and the key to Del's wrist and ankle chains—off my jumbled key chain hanging by my waist. Meanwhile, Brutal took long, relaxed strides up the corridor to the duty desk and did whatever he needed to do. I watched Nika push the cell door open on its tracks while I was standing on the other side of the mile, to make sure Del didn't try anything. Nika walked in slowly, in the direction of the frightened half-balding Frenchman—flinching every time she took a step closer—on his bunk.  
>"Delacroix? I'm here to take these chains off, they don't look so comfortable." She turned her head, and shut the cell door.<p>

"_Mademoiselle_!" Del shuffled towards Nika, nearly fell, but she caught him in her arms just in time.

_"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!" _Del wept on her shoulder, the blood from his bleeding ear was sopping her neck.  
>"What, what is it?"<br>"I'm sorry…I've gon and don stupid things, fergive me, mademoiselle…"  
>"Huh?" Nika lifted Del's head off her shoulder and looked at him, perplexed. I understand why he asked for forgiveness, it took me 20 years to decipher; Nika's sister was raped, killed and lit on fire, the house nearby caught aflame also and executed the rest of Nika's family—this was the crime Del was locked up for, mind you—but not her father, her father was in Russia, slaughtered in combat training as she told me, then she was sent to America. I admire her for not surrendering to complete insanity.<br>"What do you mean?" I was aware of that Nika knew exactly why Del apologized; she just didn't want to acknowledge it, again. Del didn't say anything, but he did kiss her forehead, slowly sauntered away from her and her caressing arms—the chains dragging against the cell floor, sounding like a bag of coins—and sat sniffling on his bunk, balding head face down, ear bleeding, and staring at the grey concrete of the cell. He had no expression on his face, he just sat there. I was eager to tell Nika to hurry and take off his chains, but Nika stood up and did so before I could tell her so. She stood in the doorway of the cell, brow raised and said,

"Next!"

_I went through my set speech, all about how we had the radio—Make Believe Ballroom and Our Gal Sunday, and how we'd treat him jake if he did the same for us. That little homily was not what you'd call one of my great successes. He cried all the way through it, sitting huddled up at the foot of his bunk, as far from me as he could get without actually fading into the corner. He cringed every time I moved, and I don't think he heard one word in six. Probably just as well. I don't think that particular homily made a whole lot of sense, anyway. _

_Fifteen minutes later I was back at the desk, where a shaken-looking Brutus Howell was sitting and licking the tip of the pencil we kept with the visitors' book._

"I'll give ya three-hundred dollars if you bend Percy over your knee and spank him for bad behavior," Nika said to Brutal, sitting calmly on the desk, examining at her gently calloused hands.  
>"Ha, ain't it the truth." I placed a hand on Brutal's broad shoulder. He shook his head.<br>"One-thousand."  
>"Deal." They turned to each other, and locked pinkies.<br>"Promise?"  
>"Promise is a promise, ma'am."<p>

_Comments and Trolling accepted._


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